The Long Con
by Beloved-the-Fool
Summary: It's always been his favorite, the Long Con. But nine years? This was, far and away, his longest con ever. And his most prolific one. Cos until a recent conversation with Emily, he even had himself conned.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This one's gonna run multi-chapter. It's certainly loads longer than my first one. I'm kinda excited about this one, so I hope you lot enjoy it. Please feel free to r+r.**

**Fair warning: there is a bit of 'language' but nothing shockingly un-Lightman-like. In a later chapter, there's the possibility of an f-bomb, but I'll try to remember to put a warning at the head of that chapter.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Lie To Me, we'd be well into Season 5, and Season 6 would already be in the works; so obviously, it isn't mine. Boo.**

* * *

_"Truth or happiness – never both."_

_"A hard truth – in the long run – is far better for you than a soft lie." _

_"A word? He's not someone for the long haul." _

_"You know the line we talk about? You know, the line we have to draw because we see things people are hiding? Things they don't want us to know? I think we should respect the line. I think it's best for both of us."_

* * *

_"Well, you got her head screwed on right. More or less." _

_"Yeah, the truth is that's about the best you can ever hope for." _

_"What's your excuse with me, then? Eh, darlin?"_

* * *

It was shortly after 7pm when Cal came wandering into Gillian's office. Wandering was really the best way to describe his entrance, as though he had begun walking aimlessly through the halls of The Lightman Group and had only ended up in her office quite by accident. This was, of course, not at all the case; this had become their nightly custom, one of them turning up in the other's office after the front door closed behind the last employee to leave for the day. That had been Loker tonight, about 20 minutes prior.

Visiting each other was their way of closing out the workday whenever they were both in the office. It had always been something they did – one of many somethings they did – by unspoken agreement. And even though it was old habit by now, it hadn't escaped Gillian's notice that Cal seemed to have become even more deliberate about it after Clair's death. He never missed a night, even going so far as to return to the office after having left earlier in the day. He'd done that twice recently. She wanted to protest, to say he didn't need to go out of his way for her, but the truth was that she really liked the extra attentiveness he was showing toward her.

Although the days immediately following Clair's death had been dark ones for her, enough time had passed at this point that the hurt wasn't quite as acute. Gillian was actually in a much better headspace now than at any other time since that awful night when Cal had answered her frantic call and rushed to her only to find her covered in Clair's blood and reeling over being unable to save her young friend. And Gillian knew she had Cal to thank for getting her beyond it all, helping her move on. Doctorate notwithstanding, he was no psychologist; but when it came to Gillian's own personal psychology, Cal was far and away the most qualified to "shrink" her back to herself. No one else knew her the way Cal did. No one ever had and very likely never would.

Mostly, what Cal did for her in recent weeks was in what he _didn't_ do. He didn't give her advice, didn't tell her how she "should" feel, didn't try to move her more quickly through the grieving process. Really, what he did was sit with her in silence or hold her tight against him. He gave her a real sense of safety and stability. And even more than that, it just felt _good_ to be held by him, so _damn good_ to be in his arms with her head leaning against him. It had started out as feeling merely comforting. Lately, though, she had begun feeling something that was decidedly more than comfort.

Not that he was taking advantage; Cal was behaving in the exact same, comforting way he had since Clair's death. Positively gentlemanly. And gentle. And manly.

There, that was the problem. Lately, whenever she took solace in the circle of his arms (_strong arms…tattooed arms…sexy arms…stop it, Gillian!_) she found her thoughts going rogue on her. She would lie there, an ear pressed against his chest (_a strong chest, a…really?! focus, woman!_) listening to the steady cadence of his heartbeat. She would feel its solid thrum reverberate down the full length of her until her entire body was humming with every beat of his heart, with every rise and fall of his chest. She would begin to feel the tell-tale flutter in her stomach, the change in her breathing that became shaky and shallow, the warming of her traitorous skin as some little voice in her head began to make inappropriate observations and even more inappropriate suggestions. It was usually about that time that she would reluctantly peel herself from his embrace and with a regretful sigh – which surely he would take for melancholy (_oh, please, oh, please, let him take it for melancholy or for anything at all other than what it really was! and what it _really_ was, she wouldn't even confess to _herself_)_ – she would announce that they should really call it a night and head to their respective homes.

She would fail to meet his eyes, and he would decline to call her out on it. They would gather their things, and he would walk her to her car. He would say goodnight and plant a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth, and she would resist turning her head _just_ enough that he'd catch more than the corner. He would watch her buckle in and tell her that if she needed him, he would be only a phone call away; and she would silently begin to fret over how many times that night her finger would hover over the SEND button before she would finally turn her phone all the way off in an effort to remove the temptation to ring him _just_ to hear his voice. He would stand there til she drove out of sight, and then he would get into his car and go home. She would go home (alone) and lie awake into the wee hours wishing he was there beside her.

And the next day, the process would begin again. _Lather-rinse-repeat. _

And so that's the well-worn path her thoughts were skipping along when Cal wandered into her office that evening.

"How ya doin'? Alright, luv?"

She smiled up at him from her desk, at his casual, customary greeting. Because it wasn't merely customary and was anything but casual; he actually wanted to know the answer.

"I'm good, and I'm glad to see you because that means I can finally stop working on this first quarter analysis." She stood and stretched and didn't bother to retrieve her shoes, instead walking barefoot to the sofa. As she passed Cal, she caught his hand loosely in hers and pulled him along behind her to sink down on the sofa together and assume their usual positions.

They spent some time talking about their day. They discussed the case they'd just closed that morning and what projects their team were each working on and what new cases were on the horizon. Cal told her about a frustrating call he'd had with Emily earlier, avoiding any details but telling Gillian how Emily was grilling him like the Spanish Inquisition. "She kept on insisting I should just jump in with both feet, right? And I told her, 'That's a bit previous', and she said I didn't know what I was doing. So I told her that I know _exactly_ what I'm doing – that being Sweet F.A. – and she just kept going on and on. So then I called her Madame Grand Inquisitor, she told me to grow up and stop being such a baby and then bloody well hung up on me! You believe the cheek?"

Gillian chuckled softly, "Yep, that sounds about right."

"Hey now, Foster, you're supposed to be on my side!"

"How can I possibly choose sides?" she replied lightly. "I don't even know what you were being a baby about."

Cal twisted his head and leaned so he could see Gillian's face. She grinned impishly up at him. He stared at her thoughtfully for a moment. When the weight of his gaze became too heavy, she snuggled her head back against his chest. She almost didn't hear him when he asked in a voice barely above a whisper, "Would you like to know?"


	2. Chapter 2

_"How can I possibly choose sides?" she replied lightly. "I don't even know what you were being a baby about."_

_She almost didn't hear him when he asked in a voice barely above a whisper, "Would you like to know?"_

* * *

She lifted her head in surprise, still not convinced she'd heard him right or that he wasn't joking. He certainly didn't look like he was joking.

"You don't have to tell me, Cal, if you don't want to."

He studied her face a moment longer. She wondered what he was searching for. Then he spoke again, voice still oddly subdued. "No, I think I want to," he said, his eyebrows raising slightly as though it surprised even him. "Well, maybe not 'tell', exactly. Not in so many words," he added.

Gillian shook her head, a bewildered smile on her face. "What _are_ you talking about?"

Cal popped up abruptly from the sofa, jostling her aside ungracefully and held out his hand for hers. "Look, come with me. I need to show you something." With that, he grabbed her wrist and led her to his office. He let go of her as they walked through his doorway and strode over to his desk. In one fluid motion, he scooped up the remote then spun to aim it at the screen that hung on one wall.

As an image of a brain MRI appeared on the screen, Gillian looked at Cal and shrugged. "Your brain scans? Cal, I've seen those before. Dozens of times, in fact. You have them done a couple times a year. Why do I need…" She had stopped speaking suddenly, whipping her head back to the screen, colour draining from her face as the frayed edges of panic began to set in. "Oh, no. Oh, Cal, what…" She couldn't even finish that sentence.

Which was just as well, since Cal was already interrupting her. "No, no, no! Darlin, no! I'm good. It's all good. Didn't mean to put the fear in ya. Good to know you care, though." He was trying for levity, but it fell flat. "No, this is something else entirely."

Though her relief was plain, she gestured in a vaguely agitated manner for him to continue.

"Aye, aye," he smirked a bit at her agitation. He really did adore the look that mild agitation always put on her face. Casually motioning in the general direction of his sofa, he said, "Well, go on then. Have a seat. Make yourself comfy." He walked over, flopped down beside her and slouched low.

Gillian glanced over at him. Sometimes when he sat like that (which was most of the time, really) she wondered how it was he didn't just slide right off the edge and land on the floor. "Care to enlighten me why I'm looking at your brain?" she asked, smiling a bit now that her stomach had dislodged itself from her throat after the little scare she'd had. When he didn't answer straight away, she turned toward him. The hard-edged look in his eyes softened suddenly, and she found it unnerving. Unnerving and intense. And maybe just a little bit…_hot._

_Where did _that_ come from? _she wondered. Trying to hide the blush she could feel creeping into her cheeks, she turned her face quickly back toward the screen, peering intently.

Cal lifted his hand and, working the remote, brought up a photo beside the first scan. It was the one of him and Em arsing about. "That," he announced, pointing to the scan image, "is the result in my brain of looking at that." As he stated the last part, he shifted his pointing finger to the photo with Emily. "At the front of my brain there, those colours that look like a storm front moving across a Doppler, that's supposed to be love."

Crinkles formed at the edges of Gillian's eyes as she smiled, big and genuine, and spared another sidelong glance at Cal. "That's sweet. You're a good dad, Cal."

He couldn't help the glow of pride that suffused him at the sound of her words, nor the smile they brought to his lips. He kept his attention on the screen and brought up the photo of Zoe and the next scan wherein the colours were concentrated at the back of his brain.

"That is 'fight or flight', that is. No surprises there, eh?" he quipped.

Gillian just laughed, rolling her eyes. "Your ex-wife, Cal? Come on, you loved her once upon a time."

"_Once_ upon a time, yeah. Long time ago. Another lifetime, really." Cal sucked air through his teeth a couple of times, grimaced, then pursed his lips. He turned his head toward Gillian. She returned his gaze, looking amused.

"Right," he said folding his lips into a thin line. Taking a deep breath through his nose, he plunged ahead. "Time for the Grand Finale."

On the screen, Gillian saw her own photo appear along side yet another scan. This one was lit up like a Christmas tree. _Ironic, _she mused, _since Cal hates Christmas_. She studied the scan, taking in the widespread colouration. The varied hues flashed in all parts of his brain. So then…'fight or flight'…_and love?_ She was still trying to decide what to make of that when his voice interrupted her musings.

"That is the full spectrum, in case you were wondering: fight or flight, attraction, happiness, fear, love, pride, shame…" There was a slight pause. "And lust, of course," he added cheekily, wagging his eyebrows at her and letting his eyes slip from her face to unsubtly travel the full length of her body, tawdry smirk playing over his lips.

The crimson rushed to her cheeks again in full force, diffusing rapidly down her chest and disappearing beneath the top of her blouse. She tried to appear exasperated and aloof but it just came off as overdone and rather obviously insincere. She might as well have shouted her embarrassment and arousal though a bullhorn.

Naturally, Cal didn't fail to notice all this which, of course, only made his smirk…_smirkier_, if that's even possible. His eyes twinkled with amusement and then with something else. That very telling dilation of the pupils. Gillian was horrifyingly certain that her own pupils had gone so wide and so dark with desire that they might just pop right out of her head and smack him in the face.

And that was why – at possibly THE most inopportune moment – Gillian burst into a fit of giggles that caused her sides to ache and left her breathless.

"Oi! I was trying to make a point, here." Somehow, he managed to sound both amused and annoyed all at one time. "This is actually quite serious," he said imperiously.

"Sorry," Gillian said breathily, still recovering from the laughter. "Sorry, blame it on an overactive imagination."

"I'm not even gonna ask," he replied.

Gillian wiped the tears from her eyes and regained her composure. "So…what's all this about? What are you trying to tell me with this little video demonstration?"

The smile faded from his face, and he actually looked crestfallen. "Well, I really thought it'd be perfectly bloody clear what I was gettin' at." There was an edge of frustration in his voice. He gnawed away at the corner of his mouth, eyes flitting around the room like startled butterflies. The came to rest on the screen before slipping closed as he heaved a sigh.

"I had hoped it wouldn't come to this," he said. "I think it's time to come clean about something; and I wanted to get my point across, right, with this," he explained, gesturing to the screen still displaying Gillian's photo alongside the scan. "But I can see now I'm gonna have to resort to…"

It seemed as though the remainder of his sentence had turned into something solid and tangible and had stuck in his throat. He began to look a bit…_greenish._ For a moment, Gillian actually began to wonder if he might be about to throw up. Just as she opened her mouth to ask if he needed the trash bin, he shook his head as though clearing it and found his voice again.

He looked her square in the eye then. "I'm gonna have to resort to using my words," he mumbled dejectedly.

At Cal's declaration, Gillian couldn't quite hide the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Resorting to words? This _must_ be serious," she joked.

Cal didn't return the jest. He had gone deadly sombre and just nodded as he replied quietly, "You have _no_ idea, luv."

Gillian tried to lighten his suddenly overcast mood. "Communicating with me in words is that much of a disappointment to you?"

"No, cos y'know, words...right?...have _never_ been my medium. That's _your_ arena. I operate in the physicality of truth. No real guesswork; it's all laid out, there for the readin'. But for this," he said, indicating the general space between them. "For this conversation, I need to be in _your_ arena."

_[and just like that, the first brick tumbled out of the wall. it was easier than he had expected. maybe he could do this after all.]_

* * *

**A/N: Still with me? Yes? No? I've got the remainder of the story pretty much written; it just wants a bit of editing and such before I post it up. Soon as I have the time to sit down a do a proper job of it, I'll get the next chapter posted. I think it'll be two more in length; just trying to suss out where to put in the break...**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Here it is: minor f-bomb warning but only the one.**

* * *

_"No, cos y'know, words...right?...have never been my medium. That's your arena. I operate in the physicality of truth. No real guesswork; it's all laid out, there for the readin'. But for this," he said, indicating the general space between them. "For this conversation, I need to be in your arena."_

_[and just like that, the first brick tumbled out of the wall. it was easier than he had expected. maybe he could do this after all.]_

* * *

"I _really_ wish you could just read it on my face." He raised his eyebrows slightly, looking at her hopefully with an open gaze. She hated to disappoint him, but…

"You don't let anyone read you."

"I let _you_," he countered. "Sometimes. And Emily."

He sighed in resignation, not bothering to hide his frustration. His eyes closed, and his chest expanded with a deep breath, his brow furrowed in concentration. She could see something on his face; something was going on with him, a battle inside his own mind perhaps. He had demons enough, to be sure. She had seen Cal wrestle with them on a regular basis.

Slowly, Cal's eyes opened and refocused on Gillian. Not photograph-Gill, but the real flesh-and-blood love of his life. He was just sitting there silently staring at her, his eyes boring into her as though he was trying to see directly into her soul.

_[another brick falls]_

_ [and another]_

With his finger, he made a circle motion in front of his face. "What d'ya see? Right now, eh?" He looked pained.

"Fear," she replied carefully. "You're afraid of something." She looked at him, concerned yet curious.

He nodded slowly. "Not just _afraid_, luv. Terrified. I am _absolutely_ terrified right now. In fact, I don't think it's any stretch at all to say that I've _never_ in my entire life felt this afraid. And that's really saying somethin'."

"What has you so afraid, Cal? What's wrong?" Gillian couldn't help herself. She reached out and touched his upper arm in what she meant to be a comforting, calming gesture. Instead, Cal tensed, and his eyes darted around the room as though he was looking for an escape hatch. Maybe he was.

"Nothing. Nothing's 'wrong'. 'Least, I hope..." He suddenly changed tack. "Emily cornered me. Metaphorically speaking. On my sofa. I'm the gambler, but a little, teenage girl called my bluff." He breathed a soft laugh through his nose and spoke quietly. "She asked me what I'm waiting for." He paused then, staring fixedly beyond some corner of the room. "And, see, the thing is, I didn't know the answer."

"Waiting for..?" Gillian asked with a faint smile and a small shake of her head.

_[another brick falls]_

Cal waved again at his face, expression strained. "You can't see anythin' else?"

She shook her head apologetically. "Just fear. You're too guarded for me to see anything else."

Cal sighed. "I'm trying, luv. I _really_ am. It's like, I've spent such a long time reinforcing this wall, that now I'm having a hard time deconstructing it...to let you in."

She took his fidgeting hands in her smaller ones. "You've never needed to protect yourself from me, Cal. Not from me. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, I do. I know that, darlin'. I do know that. But old habits die hard, and I have been hiding for a very, very long time, haven't I? I mean, I had to. And it wasn't to protect myself. Well, no. Ok, it was. A bit, yeah? But mainly…mainly I was trying to protect you. From me. From being ruined by me." His voice had gone unimaginably soft, as though he barely had enough breath to push out the words.

_[another brick]_

"Cal..." she began.

"Nah, luv. You gotta let me get through this, now I've started. Cos if I stop now, I dunno I can ever get this out. And it needs to be said. Shoulda been said a long time ago, but...here we are."

Gillian nodded. "Ok."

He stared down at their twined hands, idly stroking the soft spot between her thumb and index finger. When he lifted his eyes to hers again, his question was clear in them; but he knew the answer before he asked. Yet he asked anyway.

"You...can't see it yet?" He stared into her eyes intently. He was almost _willing_ her to see it, whatever it was he was struggling to show her, because words had always failed him. Still, he kept trying.

Gillian opened her mouth, and there was a slight pause; but she just shook her head in unspoken apology again and sighed. She knew he wanted her to read him, to read what he was trying to say, what he was feeling. But she isn't as good at that as he is. _Words_ are her specialty.

Cal nodded resignedly. "I know you don't see it yet, but it's there. I promise you, it's there. Been there from the start, really." He chewed at the corner of his mouth, the way he does when he's really thinking hard, really searching for the right words. "I wanna get this right, Gill." He graced her with an uncharacteristically nervous smile. "Cos, see, I know...I _know_ I'm only getting one shot...to get this right." His hand left hers momentarily for one finger to scratch distractedly at the corner of his eye, and he exhaled forcefully, looking aside. "I can't afford to bollocks this one up. Cos that's what I do, innit? I fuck things up. Taint whatever's good in my life. And I cannot afford to have that happen here. Not this time. Not with so much at stake."

His hand returned to hers, threading their fingers more tightly than before.

_[another brick]_

"Help me understand. What's at stake, Cal?" Gillian pleaded gently.

"This," he responded. "Us. This thing we've got going. It's good, Gill; I mean, it's _damn_ good. Easily one of the two best things that's ever happened to me, Em being the first." Hungry eyes searched hers, keen and piercing. "You're my best friend, and I love you; you know that. There's nothing in this world I wouldn't do for you..."

_[another brick]_

"And I know I haven't always demonstrated that in the best possible way, haven't always been the kind of friend you deserve. But that's the fear," he confessed, raising his eyebrows. "Cos we're close, yeah? You and me, we're solid, we're tight. But you've always been my blind spot, and if we keep getting closer, that wall I'm fighting so bloody hard to hold up? It starts to get heavy and a _lot_ harder to keep in place."

_[another brick]_

"So why not let it go?" Gillian dared to ask.

"Well, that's the million dollar question, luv," he answered with a soft smirk. "Trust you and Em to boil it all down and make me go looking for the answer. Cos you well _know_ how I am when I'm chasing down an answer. You, of all people, Gillian, know that."

Gillian nodded. "Relentless. Driven. Passionate."

Cal acknowledged that with a slight tip of his head and chewed again at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah," he whispered distractedly. "Yeah." His eyes drifted back and locked onto hers. Locked on and held on for dear life.

_[another brick]_

There was just a slight widening of her eyes, maybe 1/15th of a second, a flash of something. Surprise.

Seeing this, he nodded encouragingly.

"Starting to come into focus, yeah? But we're not quite there, are we? Not quite. I never meant to... I didn't wanna keep you out, Gill."

"Then why did you?"

"Had to. Had to, luv. I keep everyone out. Safer that way."

"For you or for everyone else?" she pressed.

"Bit of both, really," he replied honestly.

"You let Emily in." It wasn't an accusation, simply a statement of fact. "Not for everything, but for the most part."

"That's true," he conceded.

"So, how did she get in, behind that wall of yours?" Gillian asked.

"Well, I carried her in, didn't I? Day she was born. The moment they put her into my arms, and I looked into those great, big eyes of hers. Total innocence. Entirely without guile. Trusting. And I was _hooked_. She needed me, and so I carried her right inside without a second thought, right straight into my heart. That's why, to this day, she can get to me like no one else. As it should be," He allowed a small half smile. "It's why she was able to corner me, and I never saw it coming. I _am_ trying, Gillian. To bring you in."

Then Gillian looked straight at him, looked him dead in the eye and said the words he would never forget, could never forget even if he forgot everything else he ever knew:

"You lead. I'll follow."

_[another brick ...and then another ...and another]_

_[then a whole, big section of his wall, crumbling into so much dust]_

It was only four words. Four little words. But apparently, they had been the right words to say.

* * *

**A/N: One last chapter to go! Thanks for reading.**


	4. Chapter 4

_It was only four words. Four little words. But apparently, they had been the right words to say._

* * *

Gillian Foster had always had a gift for words and never more so than that moment. She hadn't even thought about them first; they just came out when she opened her mouth. That's why they were the right ones. Because they came from the heart, from that secret place of the heart that we don't even know exists in us until it reveals itself. And there it was. Unfiltered. Raw. Honest.

Cal Lightman - master of expression. But over the years, Dr. Foster had taught him a thing or three. So he saw the truth behind her eyes as she spoke those four little words. But more than that, he _heard_ it. Heard what she said and what she didn't say and understood all that she meant by it. _Really_ heard it. And he clung to it like a lifeline, like a man drowning. Because, really, he was. This was it: the proverbial defining moment. Sink or swim.

And Cal Lightman began to paddle like his life depended on it. Because it did.

He moved closer to her, leaving scarcely a hair's breadth between them. "I want you to know, Gillian, that I _value_ you. As a business partner, as a friend. As the one person in this whole bloody world - barring Emily - that I trust without question. And that scares the shit outta me. Because if I'm really gonna trust you - I mean, _really_ trust you - that wall? It's gotta come down."

_[another brick]_

He inched closer to her, as though he needed to occupy the same space as her. She didn't move away, didn't yield any ground because in all honesty, she needed this just as desperately as he did. _Wanted_ it more than she could ever possibly express in mere words.

He went on, leaning ever closer. "I mean, it had a purpose, at one time. A good, respectable purpose. Early on. Like your line. Yeah?" he said pointedly, but not ungently. "We _needed_ it. Then." He continued with a quirk of an eyebrow. "Both married, trying like hell to make a go of it. And then my marriage fell apart. And who was there to help me pick up the pieces? In those first days right after my divorce, who was it was there? By my side - day in, day out - picking up the pieces when I could barely be bothered to get out of bed and dress myself. Who was it kept me going even when I was just going through the motions?" He paused and bowed his head. "I tell you, those were some of my darkest days."

His head still hung low, but he rolled his eyes upward to look at her. "But you know that already. Because you were there, right beside me. For every miserable, soddin' moment of it, you were there carrying my pain. Because I couldn't. And because you love me. Though for the life of me, darlin, I dunno why you do. I don't deserve your loyalty. I don't deserve a friend like you, but I'm _awful_ bloody grateful...that you're still here."

"I'm not going anywhere," she replied tearfully, reaching out to lovingly stroke the scruff on his cheek. His eyes sunk half-closed and he all but melted into her palm.

"All that stuff, you know it. Like I said. But what you don't know...what I could never let you know was..."

"I mean, I was devastated by my divorce. Not to lose Zoë, because, honestly, that had been a long time coming by that point. Mentally and emotionally, we had both checked out months before those papers were ever signed. But it was like, I'd failed Emily. That trust she put in me on Day One, I didn't live up. And that _killed_ me." It hurt Gillian to hear the pain ripping through his voice. Physically _hurt_ her. She ached for him at the realization that he saw himself as a failure. She never saw him that way; to her thinking, he was a fantastic father. He was just the sort of father any kid would be blessed to call 'Dad'. The sort of father she would want for her own children if she could have them.

Cal was oblivious to her musings; he was somewhere else, somewhere far away. And then he looked at her, and she thought that maybe he wasn't so far off after all. Their faces were so close together that she could feel his breath against her skin. She could smell the warm, clean, heady scent of him. And it made her wonder why she ever tried to fight this in the first place.

Cal took a slow, deep breath and let it out. "But even though I was devastated by all that, as it should be - as anyone in their right mind would be...what bothered me even more was that I was one step closer, and that one step didn't even matter. Because I still had to hide the truth." His expression shifted and he leaned back from her a bit to get a better look at her. "What do you remember about me after that? Right after I snapped outta that funk?"

Gillian raised her eyebrows, slightly taken aback by the suddenness of his question in the middle of his soliloquy, and gave a one-shouldered shrug. "It was abrupt. One day, you were despondent and the next, you were...not. You were yourself again," she laughed softly, fondly, "…only more so, if that makes any sense. You certainly took flirting to a new level." She smiled, glancing at him briefly then looking down and away before he could read the truth in her eyes. Because it was right there, right at the surface and not even pretending to hide any longer. And she just wasn't ready to show it yet, so she went on. "There's always been that...thing...we do. But you became _incorrigible, shameless_. I just chalked it up to your way of mending your wounded pride. So I played along, best I could, which admittedly isn't all that great. But you... You made innuendo into an art form," she finished with a smirk. And in that moment, Cal wanted nothing more than to slowly and teasingly lick that smirk right off her lips.

"Yeah, well, what better way to hide the truth than with the truth? Eh, darlin?" he said huskily, ravenous eyes roaming her face, searching for signs and praying for traces of... Of what?

She saw it then. Her eyes widened, mouth opened to gasp softly, narrowing her eyes slightly and tilting her head a little, studying him. Watching fascinated as she saw more emotion playing over his features than she had ever been privy to. She was half-afraid of the answer ,and so her voice quivered embarrassingly when she asked, "What are you saying, Cal?"

_[another brick]_

Cal shook his head gently. "Not yet," he muttered cryptically and bit his lower lip before continuing.

"So then came your divorce, right? And I wanted to be there for you, like you had been for me, y'know? To be the kind of friend you deserved. I _tried_, Gill, honest I did.. But all the while, yeah? While you were hurting and shedding tears, there was me...and d'you know what I felt? Happy. I mean, I felt bad; I hurt for you, for your pain. I did. But there was I, feeling happy. What sort of heartless bastard feels happy over his best friend's divorce? I mean, I always knew I was a miserable sod, but that was a new low, even for me." He looked away but gripped her hands a bit tighter. Like he was trying to anchor himself, trying to prove that she was real and was still there.

Gillian took advantage of his pause to jump to his defense. "Maybe you were just reflecting, Cal. Reflecting what I felt. You know, what was there but not on the surface. Because I _was_ happy. Relieved. Hurt? Yes. Sad? In a way, yes. But also _happy_. Secretly. And I think you must've seen that, Cal. You always see. Everything." Gillian chuckled ruefully. "Even when I don't want you to. You can't help it. You're the only one, though. You always have been. The only one who can see through even my best defenses."

She licked her lips and went on. "But...I don't know...maybe I wanted you to see that. That I was happy." She paused, unsure that to say next or rather, how to say it. Catching her lower lip between her teeth and glancing at him almost shyly, she said, "Because, you know, I _should've_ been ashamed of that. Ashamed of myself for being happy my marriage was over. But do you know what I was really ashamed of, Cal? I was ashamed that I _wasn't_ ashamed."

"Yeah, we'll, plenty of that to go round, luv. Shame," Cal replied bitterly. "Cos right then, that moment right then when I realised you were happy...that could've been another step. Forward. But what did I do, eh?" When he didn't continue, she realised he was waiting for her to answer him.

"You distanced yourself from me. Pushed me away. It was like…the moment you knew I was happy, you wanted to punish me for it. So you just found better and better ways to twist the knife. Ways named Clara. And Sharon. Hell, even Zoë." She was starting to get angry now, and she spat out each name, her voice getting louder, words tumbling out of her one after the other. "You threatened me over the finances. You put yourself in harm's way. You always did that, but it seemed like you were becoming more purposeful about it, more deliberate." She smirked disgustedly and released an abrupt sigh through her nose. "And I just took it. Everything you dished out, I just _took_ it because I believed I deserved it. Even though it hurt like hell, Cal, that you - of all people - could twist that knife again and again. I felt like it was retribution for me daring to be happy that I was free."

_[and then another brick fell. the final one.]_

Without saying another word, he lifted his hand to her cup her face, thumb ghosting faintly across her cheek whisper-soft, fingertips twining themselves in her hair. He pressed his forehead to hers and stayed like that, breathing deeply, inhaling her for a full ten count trying to steady himself. Had he thought at the start of that conversation that he couldn't feel more terrified? He had been wrong. So very wrong. Because what he felt now could only be described as _abject_ terror. Cal Lightman had experienced many things, had done many, _many_ things. But this…this was all new ground. Uncharted territory. And him without a map.

Slowly, he raised his head just a bit to look into her eyes.

And for the first time ever - for the first time in their nine-year friendship - Gillian Foster saw something in his eyes that she had never seen before. And it stole the breath from her lungs, and any words she might've been about to speak just died on her lips when she saw it. That thing she had never, ever seen in him before.

Cal Lightman had tears in his eyes. And like the bricks, they began to fall.

And he _let_ them.

* * *

He sounded very much like a broken man when he spoke again. "There are not enough words to tell you how very, truly sorry I am, Gillian, for every second of pain I caused you. Because you didn't deserve that, Gill. D'you hear me? You DID NOT deserve that. I had no right to do that to you. A good friend would never do such a thing, the sort of friend which I am apparently _not_."

"Stop it, Cal! Stop it right there," she demanded fiercely. "I don't ever want to hear those words from your mouth. _Ever_. _Again_. Do you understand me?" Her entire body was shaking now. "Because, yes, you hurt me. But I know that came from a place of fear. Objectively, I know that. And I know that it's because we can only inflict the most pain on the people we're closest to." Cal had the good grace to flinch at that and look duly chastised. Her expression softened again. "So even though I'm hurt and I'm angry with you and I want to punch you and push you away just out of spite, I…can't." Saying this, she seemed to deflate and her tears began to roll down her cheeks in earnest. "I can't. Because you have ALWAYS been there for me when it counts. ALWAYS. You've been my rock and my safe place to fall and the _only_ person on the face of this earth that I could ever be this real with. Since Clair's death, you have been there for me in ways I didn't even know I needed. And that, that tells me all I need to know about the value of our friendship." She reached out one tentative hand to touch his face. "And that more than makes up for any past hurts." She let her eyelids sink closed against the tears and because the sweet ache of looking into his eyes was just too much to bear.

As Gillian spoke those words, Cal seemed to come to some sort of conclusion, one that erased the worry lines and fear creasing his brow. He knew what he needed to do. Sometimes, knowing what to do next is half the battle.

Closing the scant few remaining centimetres between them, his face moved closer to hers. He placed a tender kiss first on one closed eyelid then on the other.

"I want to kiss your tears away."

He speaks the next word reverently, in barely a whisper against her lips as though the word that follows next is his life's blood, his oxygen, his air, the reason his heart continues to beat from one moment to the next.

"Gillian."

She never knew her name could sound so beautiful.

And then, it's just happening. He's kissing her softly, tenderly, intimately. It's the way that lovers kiss, and she feels an overwhelming surge of warmth that starts with the almost painfully sweet press of his lips against her and spreads like warm honey through her chest, down into the pit of her stomach, and to the tips of her toes. She's never been more aware of him, of everything about him, every part of him. Every nerve ending in her body is screaming with need and hunger. She feels him start to pull away, and it causes such a deep and unexpected emptiness within the core of her being that she can't suppress the groan of anguish that works its way out of her. She's only had him for a few seconds, but already the threat of his absence, the threat of a break in the physical contact for which she has been starving is just too much to withstand. She gasps sharply against his mouth; and he hovers there, his lips barely brushing hers, and he takes it in. He swallows all the pain, all the fear, all the sorrow, all the love in that gasp. And he knows the time is now.

"I dunno how to love you the way you deserve to be loved, but I promise - I _swear_ to you - I will spend every minute of every day of the rest of my life trying to figure that out. If you'll let me."

Her eyes open, and she swallows hard. "Are you saying... Are you saying..."

"I love you."

It was only three words. Three little words. But apparently, they were the right words to say.

Cal Lightman had never had a gift for words; but in this moment, a lifetime of inadequacy was made whole**.**

* * *

**A/N: I just wanted to say thanks to one and all for reading and reviewing, particularly the guests who commented but to whom I can't reply directly. You support and encouragement is vastly appreciated!**

**Please be sure to let me know your thoughts on the conclusion. Ta muchly, everyone!**

**BTW, the verb tense shift near the end was intentional. I hated to do it, but for the proper impact, it had to be done.**


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